


mile high

by jehans



Series: it's for you [22]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Les Amis are the worst flyers in the entire world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mile high

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrid_fischer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrid_fischer/gifts).



“But we’re both _wearing_ seat belts,” Courfeyrac is arguing with the stewardess who’s been scolding him and Jehan. “I legitimately don’t see the problem.”

“Sir, you’re wearing the _same_ seatbelt,” the stewardess points out. “ _That_ is the problem.”

Simultaneously, Jehan and Courfeyrac both pout.

“But you said you wanted us to be comfortable,” Jehan complains. He’s sitting on Courfeyrac’s lap, his boyfriend’s arms wrapped around him, and he likes it.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac agrees. “This is how we’re comfortable.”

“This is how we _sit_ ,” Jehan finishes firmly.

“Please, sirs,” the stewardess practically begs, “you need to sit in your designated seats. You cannot spend the flight in each other’s laps.”

Jehan and Courfeyrac glance at each other like this is most dubious thing either has ever heard. The stewardess looks like she’s about ready to manhandle one or both of them when Combeferre finally leans across both Enjolras and Grantaire to say sternly, “Jehan, sit in your proper seat.”

Jehan glares and pouts at Combeferre, but reluctantly unbuckles himself to slide off Courfeyrac’s lap and into his aisle seat. He makes up for the forced lack of intimacy by pushing the armrest between them up, seizing Courfeyrac by his ridiculous suspenders and yanking him down for a frankly obscene make out session. Next to them by the window, Feuilly groans loudly. Directly behind him, Bahorel deliberately kicks his chair. Again.

It’s possible going on a joint vacation with essentially twelve grown children (and one actual child) was not their best idea. But ever since Combeferre’s return, everyone has been extra clingy, and when Courfeyrac suggested spending Thanksgiving all together, the idea had snowballed until they were all on this plane, going on vacation together.

As Jehan’s and Courfeyrac’s public display of affection gets steadily more inappropriate for a public display (hands are slipping under clothes), Grantaire glances at Enjolras, who flips the page on his book and says, “No.”

Grantaire has been spending the last forty minutes trying to convince Enjolras to go back into one of the bathrooms with him and make out. But, as Enjolras keeps saying, _that’s not what airplane bathrooms are for._

So Grantaire sighs and leans into Enjolras’ arm instead, reaching over to trail his fingers lightly over the inside of Enjolras’ thigh. Enjolras doesn’t flinch, but Grantaire recognizes the sudden set of his jaw and grins, cat-like. He’s had an idea for an excellent way to seduce his wayward love for a while now and has been looking for an opportunity to try it out for some time.

Leaning in until his lips are right up against Enjolras’ ear, Grantaire whispers seductively, “ _Il est satisfaisant, messieurs, pour les ministres du peuple libre, d’avoir à lui annoncer que la patrie va être sauvée._ ”

Enjolras’ breath actually hitches right before his eyes flick toward Grantaire, whose grin turns even more wicked.

“ _On ne revendiquera rien, on ne demandera rien. On prendra, on occupera,_ ” he purrs, pressing one kiss to the space behind Enjolras’ ear and dragging his fingers further up his thigh. He has to stop himself from actually cackling when he feels exactly how aroused Enjolras is by this.

Enjolras’ breathing has become shallow and his eyes have stopped traveling over the lines on his book.

“ _Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé!_ ” Grantaire sings in a low tone, practically growling in his ear and Enjolras makes a strangled sound.

Combeferre looks over with the single most disturbed look he’s ever given his best friend (except for that time back in high school when he’d walked into their shared dorm room to find Enjolras doing highly irregular-looking things with a very large map of France — there had been a perfectly reasonable explanation for it all, Enjolras had sworn), but Grantaire is now licking the shell of Enjolras’ ear, and he is blind and deaf to everything else.

“Jesus Christ, R,” he gasps as the fingers on his leg brush over his now relatively obvious erection. Combeferre’s head has been lain in despair on his seat tray.

Grantaire presses one more kiss to Enjolras’ ear and murmurs, “Follow me in sixty seconds.” And then, slipping out of his seat belt, he’s gone, shoving Marius (who hates flying and is cowering into Cosette) triumphantly on his way back. He can feel Enjolras’ eyes on his back as he pushes into the empty bathroom and locks the door behind him. The space is tiny and it’s going to take some ingenuity to fit them both in here.

It really is only about sixty seconds before there’s a light rap on the door, clearly Enjolras’. Grantaire climbs up onto the closed lid of the toilet and unlocks the door to let Enjolras in. He’s carrying a magazine over his crotch and Grantaire nearly fails to stifle this laugh. He assumes the look Enjolras shoots him at this point is supposed to be something of a stern glare, but he’s _so fucking turned on right now_ that all it is is lust. Grantaire treasures it.

There is basically no room to maneuver with both of them in here, but it’ll work, and Grantaire settles himself in his seat, reaching forward to undo Enjolras’ jeans. This predicament of his is Grantaire’s fault, after all, and he’s all to happy to take care of fixing it.

But Enjolras’ hands are skating into his hair in a way that’s almost tender and then he’s tilting Grantaire’s face up to look at him. Leaning down, he presses wet, fervent kisses to Grantaire’s forehead, his eyebrows, his eyelids, nose, cheeks, down to his mouth.

Grantaire lets out a romantic huff and looks up at Enjolras a little questioningly, his hands still motionless on Enjolras’ belt.

“How long?” Enjolras asks him softly.

Grantaire is completely overwhelmed by the look in Enjolras’ eyes and only manages a weak, “What?”

Enjolras tilts his head and smirks, fingers curling to brush Grantaire’s neck. “How long have you been waiting to seduce me like that?”

Grantaire grins. “Fucking worked, didn’t it?” he asks slyly and Enjolras looks like he’s trying to suppress the smile pressing at the corners of his mouth.

He doesn’t answer, but he does kiss Grantaire so violently their teeth knock together. And then he releases him and Grantaire smirks as he expertly undoes Enjolras’ jeans, slipping his fingers under the waistband of his boxer briefs to pull both offending garments down to his knees. Enjolras sounds a contained, almost desperate moan as Grantaire’s hands skate over the soft skin of his ass and his breath blows hot over his goddamn erection.

When Grantaire starts humming the Marseillaise again as his tongue blazes a trail that makes Enjolras gasp, Enjolras’ hands fly up to fist roughly in dark curls.

“ _Fuck, R_ ,” he growls, and Grantaire takes pity on him and takes him in his mouth.

Enjolras bucks his hips into Grantaire’s mouth, and Grantaire is torn between utter amusement because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Enjolras _so_ turned on _so_ easily before, and sheer, ravishing lust. He flicks his tongue a little in his mouth and hums the chorus of the Marseillaise around Enjolras, who makes the most debauched sound Grantaire has ever heard out of him (which makes Grantaire hard almost instantly because _fuck_ ).

Grantaire is fumbling with with own jeans as Enjolras’ hands yank at his hair. And then he’s trying to shift enough in this tiny, cramped space to touch himself while Enjolras arches his back and tilts his head up and makes a noise that probably could be heard even above the sounds of the plane, and then there’s a burst of warmth at the back of his throat and he barely has time to swallow before Enjolras is curling over him, pressing half-formed kisses to his hair and face and neck as he sinks to his knees, and then his legs are being tugged forward until he falls backward against the wall and Enjolras is still kissing his neck as long, thin fingers encircle him and begin to stroke him blind.

It’s Grantaire’s turn for lasciviousness to roll uncontrollably off his tongue as Enjolras’ fingers touch him into oblivion. At the last moment, though, Enjolras releases him and replaces fingers with lips and Grantaire arches into his mouth as he comes violently.

It’s actually infuriating how quickly Enjolras is able to compose himself at times like this because as Grantaire heaves panting breaths and slumps against the wall of the bathroom, Enjolras simply fixes his own clothes, and then Grantaire’s, then presses four adoring, lingering kisses to Grantaire’s face and then lips. Then his lips hover next to Grantaire’s ear as he mutters, “You shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this.” Then one more kiss and he’s gone, slipping out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

It’s a stroke of good luck that no one tries to come in while Grantaire is gaspingly trying to compose himself. Because they’ve been together for seven months, but Grantaire still sees Enjolras as a kind of god who has deigned to come down and, with saintly tolerance, bless the life of someone particularly unworthy. Because even though they’ve fucked and and slept side by side and kissed and touched and whispered and gazed and stroked and breathed; even though they’ve fought and yelled and screamed and hurt and torn and bled; even though Grantaire has seen every cruel and ugly and terrible side of Enjolras, too, he still can’t seem to believe that someone like that would choose someone like him, and then have wild but indescribably loving sex with him in an airplane bathroom.

It takes him longer than he’s proud of, but eventually he manages to stand and walk out of the bathroom, ignoring the disapproving glares shot at him by the flight attendants in the back. When Grantaire gets back to his seat, Enjolras is reading his book again, a slight lift to the corners of his mouth.

Combeferre appears to be passing notes back and forth with Éponine, who’s sitting right in front of him, now, and Gavroche keeps peering through the space between chairs to grimace at Grantaire, who sticks his tongue out at him.

Across the aisle, Jehan and Courfeyrac have given up necking for nestling into each other sweetly. Jehan has fallen asleep against his boy’s chest, one hand resting under the hem of his shirt, and Courfeyrac is reading a book over Jehan’s head, absently kissing his hair every now and then. Jehan doesn’t stir, like he’s so used to the sensation of being softly, constantly loved that kisses like this refuse to wake him.

Grantaire would never admit it out loud, but the sight warms his heart. He remembers when Jehan was so lost he almost quit school and went back home (and didn’t tell anyone except Grantaire — in fact, the rest of the group still don’t have any idea how close he came to leaving), and here he is, the very best of them all, as loved and as cherished and as happy as he absolutely deserves to be.

Smiling warmly, Grantaire reaches out to Enjolras and brushes fingers over his hand. Enjolras instantly turns his hand and threads their fingers together, stroking thoughtless circles into the back of Grantaire’s hand with his thumb. And Grantaire thinks he _doesn’t_ deserve it, but he’s happy, too. And for some reason, he’s cherished, too.

And as Enjolras, glances over at him and blesses him with a small but inexpressibly tender smile before returning to his book, Grantaire won’t admit it to himself, not yet. But somewhere deep inside he’s starting to know it.

He’s loved, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my lovely Lily because she asked for it. <3 (also the seat belt thing was totally her idea)


End file.
